The Rat and the Serpent Read Online Free PDF Page A

The reason is simple, but profound. What the Mavrosopolis must be protected from is erasure. Everything around you, every street, every tower, every man’s name, every sword design, every lore book of sorcery, is at the heart of the Mavrosopolis, and that heart must never be allowed to fade. Erasure, therefore, is the ultimate evil. Loss of knowledge, loss of records, of history, is what we exist to stop.” He glanced at the tools. “As dessicators, we travel the Mavrosopolis soaking up the water that might cause erosion and decay, might flood, might flush history itself into the Propontis. Water—like wind and frost—is an agent of erasure that we oppose.”
    “What are these tools?” Atavalens asked.
    There were four designs. Musseler took the largest object—a hook on a pole—and said, “This is a general purpose opening device that we use to seek sources of water that may lurk in subterranea. This, on the other hand, is a more subtle item, a range-finding water-locator that works by sensing moisture borne on the air. This third object is a combined knife and skewer. Finally, we have a dessicating rod. The lump on the end is sorcerous and can carry far more water than its volume suggests—although weight itself is not altered. As some of you may know, water is not light.”
    “It’s heavy,” Atavalens agreed. “When do we go out to work?”
    “Tomorrow evening,” came Musseler’s reply. He reached out to pick up a tray of goblets and a pewter tankard. “We will celebrate the formation of our new group with a drink.” Opening the tankard lid, he poured milk into the goblets and handed them out to the group. I was last in line. When Musseler came to me he looked at the dregs remaining in the tankard, shrugged, and said, “I suppose you’d better have some too.” I took a goblet to receive the final drops.
    Musseler raised his goblet. “To dessication and the preservation of the Mavrosopolis,” he declared.
    We answered in ragged unison.
    Musseler returned us to the speaking chamber, then departed. I made to hobble out of the door, but Atavalens ran in front of me and shut it. “Wait, all of you,” he said.
    Raknia frowned and said, “Why?”
    Atavalens ignored her query, jumping upon the dais to address us. “Now that Musseler has gone we must organise the group by placing ourselves in a hierarchy, otherwise we will not know who is to do what when we are alone in the Mavrosopolis.” He folded his arms, glanced up at the ceiling, then nodded at Brud. “You will be number two, and you, Marmarad, number three.” He waved at Yish and Kaganashina as if to brush them away. “You will be four and five respectively. Raknia, you are number six.” He folded his arms again and glared at me. “Number seven is rat boy. That is all. I will see everyone tomorrow at the designated meeting place.”
    “Which is?” asked Raknia.
    Atavalens grimaced. “We will know when we’re told, won’t we?”
    I was tempted to make a remark, but I thought better of it. Atavalens walked over to me, preening his white hair with his hands, yawning, then glancing down at me. “Yesterday, rat boy, you claimed we were brothers in black. I tell you we are nothing of the sort. You are the coal, I am the jet. Better keep out of my way, eh?”
    I nodded. “I don’t mind that.”
    Atavalens swept out of the room. I followed at a slower pace, to see Atavalens’ two henchmen at the top of the steps outside. The trio began talking in low voices as they descended, Atavalens’ arms around each of their shoulders.
    I returned to Blackguards’ Passage. I was worried. Musseler must know something of our backgrounds, in which case why had two shamans been placed in the same group? The conflict of totems was a potential danger. And yet... it made a kind of sense. Even in nogoth circles shamans were outsiders, falling back on their powers as they forged a way through the underside of the Mavrosopolis. To put them together was to